


Undone

by birdsofshore



Series: Unguarded [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cross-Generation Relationship, Dirty Talk, Dominance, Hand Jobs, Jealousy, Love Bites, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Possessive Behavior, Power Play, Secret Relationship, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Inexperience, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 22:26:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3626574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdsofshore/pseuds/birdsofshore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco promised himself that he wouldn't be tempted again. But then he wasn't expecting Albus to look so delectable at the party. How quickly good intentions can become undone...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undone

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to [raitala](http://archiveofourown.org/users/raitala/pseuds/raitala) for the fantastic art of the boys at the party.

undone  
(adj)

1\. unfastened  
2\. unfinished  
3\. brought to destruction or ruin.

The house feels like it's going to burst if any more people squeeze into it – not that Uncle Ron's new place is small, or anything, but he and Aunt Hermione must have invited everyone they know and a few more.

Here's Hugo, pushing cheerfully through the crowds till he reaches me and Scorpius, then parting his robes to reveal a fine selection of beer tucked into each voluminous inside pocket.

Scorp's eyes light up. “Nice one, Hugo.” He reaches in for a bottle, passes one to me, then Vanishes the healthy pumpkin juice Aunt Hermione gave us when we arrived. I glance around for my dad, but he's right over in the far corner, talking to Luna and Rolf. Mum's the one who would moan, anyway, and she's safely in the kitchen helping Grandma Molly arrange her endless platters of pasties and sugary treats.

“Having fun?” Hugo asks, taking a deep swig from what I suspect is not his first beer.

I nod, and take a sip myself. I still can't get to like the taste, but I like the buzzy feeling I get after a couple. The way I can start to relax and enjoy the noise and the crowds, instead of never being quite sure what to say or what to do with my hands. “Your new house is so cool! And I can't believe McGonagall let us out for the whole weekend.”

Hugo grins. “She could hardly object, as she's here too.”

“This is great, Hugo.” Scorpius leans in to be heard over the noise of the band next door. “It was pretty nice of your family to invite me and my dad.”

A trickle of beer goes down the wrong way, and I choke for a moment, but luckily nobody notices amongst the party babble.

“Hey, no problem.” Hugo nods. “My dad was dead against inviting him, to be honest, but Mum insisted... “ Belatedly, he seems to realise what he's said, and honks out a loud laugh which shows all his back teeth. “Oops. Er, sorry, Scorpius. No offence.”

Scorpius' smile turns just a tiny bit cold. I've seen that smile before and it's not usually a good sign.

“Your dad's coming?” I blurt. It's the first thing I can think of to change the subject.

Scorpius' smile doesn't falter, but his eyes are like knives as he gives a short laugh. “Oh, I seriously fucking doubt it. He loathes this kind of boring affair.” His eyes slide slyly to Hugo. “Oops. Er, sorry, Hugo. No offence.”

My throat feels tight and I'm wondering what the hell I can say to stop the two of them, but Hugo doesn't seem to be bothered. Instead, he's smirking and looking over Scorpius' shoulder. He gestures with his beer. “Well, who's that then?”

We all turn to look, and oh, holy shit.

There he is.

He's standing on his own, near the door, wearing that haughty, don't-give-a-fuck expression that he and Scorp seem to be able to pull out at will. My mouth is instantly dry and I have to tighten my hold on this beer before I drop the bloody thing. I've never seen him dressed like this... never quite so formal and fine. His robes are a light silver-grey and they fit and flare around his body, the fabric swirling as he turns to look around the room. He's standing directly under the light of one of the lamps the Weasleys have charmed to hang from the ceiling, and he looks like he's glowing. His hair's a little bit shorter, slicked right back from his face, and his pale skin's perfect above the soft sheen of the robes. He looks like a... like a fucking prince or something.

I pull my eyes away from him and wet my lips. My heart is seriously thumping. I don't even know how many times I've thought of him since the summer, but to see him suddenly in the flesh, like this – Merlin. It's hot in here, with all of the people, and big fires blazing away in both of the fireplaces, but my legs are trembling and sort of numb. I want to look over at him again, but I make myself concentrate on Hugo and Scorpius.

Scorp's face is a frown of confusion. “I don't believe it.” His nose wrinkles. “My dad never comes to stuff like this.”

Hugo shrugs. “Guess even your dad couldn't resist a Weasley party.” He opens his robes again and checks the amount of bottles remaining in his stash. “Nice chatting to you two, but these need to go to a good home. Now, where would I find Lily and the lovely assortment of Ravenclaw ladies she arrived with?”

My eyes keep flicking to Mr Malfoy. A waiter is offering him something from a tray, and he's doing that tight little smile.

“Al?” Scorpius nudges me. “Where's Lily?

“They were all near the dancefloor, watching the band.” My voice sounds odd. “But Lily's not allowed to drink.”

Hugo clinks his beer against mine with a broad smile. “Neither am I, Al, neither am I.” He winks, then disappears into the crowd in the direction of the music.

Scorpius snorts. “Fifth years,” he says, shaking his head.

I gulp at my drink. I don't even know what I'm doing. I'm almost dizzy with it. My palms are prickling with sweat and I rub them across my robes, passing my beer from hand to hand.

Scorpius doesn't seem to notice a thing. “Suppose I ought to say hello to my dad. Or do you want to go and listen to the band?”

“I don't mind,” I manage to say, but I can see over Scorpius' shoulder that Mr Malfoy is looking around the room again, this time in our direction, and, oh, sweet mother of Merlin, I can see the moment he spots Scorpius' blond head, and then I can _feel_ his eyes sweeping across to me. His eyes flash, his face so _knowing_ , and I'm hot all over. I'm hot all over, and I'm fucking hard under my robes. I'm hard, and my face feels weird and I don't know what to do, how to stand.

Why the fuck did I have to be wearing these old-fashioned robes tonight? I even fought with Mum about it. I wanted to wear something cool like Scorpius's deep blue outfit, with the tunic, and the fitted trousers – stuff like normal people our age wear at parties. But, no, I had to wear this bloody thing, floor-length, and all buttoned up, and I look like such a fucking dork, and, shit, Mr Malfoy is talking to Uncle Ron now, and all I can think about is what it felt like when he pushed his cock deep inside me. The burn of it. The feel of his fingers, strong and sure on my hips. The sounds he made, possessive and brutal, the things he said to me, and, oh god, the feel of his _tongue_ , and... I'm not sure I can handle this, with him standing just over there, and―

Scorpius tilts his head. “Al?”

I swallow hard. “Yup?”

“You OK?”

“Fine. Just... uh. Indigestion?”

“Let's catch the band. I can speak to Dad later. Looks like he's busy with Hugo's dad, anyway.”

*~*

Of course, I'm expecting Albus to be there. It doesn't surprise me at all. I decided it would be politic to accept this first invitation from the Weasley camp, even though it sounded tedious beyond imagining. For Scorpius's sake, though. These connections could be of use to him. So I put some effort into it, you know, even had some new robes fitted, and promised myself I would not sneer at the tastes of my hosts, or balk at making small talk with their banal guests.

I knew they would be there, the Potters. I knew Albus would be there.

What I didn't expect is for him to look like this.

I don't know what ragbag he and the other Potter children usually get their clothes from; maybe they have access to a store of house-elves cast-offs. Anyway, it's something of a surprise to see Albus dressed in a set of coal-black robes, ultra-traditional, and nicely-cut from the looks of it. It takes me aback rather, just for a moment. It's amazing how something which shows so little flesh can nonetheless reveal the body beneath so effectively. I wonder if he has the slightest idea of the effect? I can see a lot of little silver buttons, lined up in rows right up to the high collar, and then, at the top, his serious little face peeping out from under his fringe. So perfect. So severe. So ruinable.

I only get a moment to enjoy that filthy little thought before Weasley interrupts.

“Malfoy,” he says, in tones too hearty. He stinks of some kind of alcohol, presumably the nasty-looking muck that's sloshing around in the glass he's holding. I shake the proffered hand. I suppose I should be grateful that his family are prepared to extend their hospitality to the likes of me, but I'm not. All I can think is how terribly he has let himself go, his gut straining at the material of the robes which probably fitted him a decade ago.

“I hear your boy's doing well at Hogwarts? Takes Potions with our Rosie, I think?”

“Yes, Scorpius has a talent for Potions.” I look past Weasley's beefy chest to see Scorpius' blond head weaving away through the crowd with Albus following. It's as well. I have absolutely no intention of pursuing matters with the boy any further. It would be an incredibly stupid move. It's merely that seeing him brought a few recollections flooding back.

Such as... his face, so wondering and awestruck, as I drew his fingers over my jaw. How he looked as he touched himself, with the sweet, hot, filthy innocence of a seventeen-year-old boy. The sound of him coming to pieces as he writhed on my cock. Merlin. He's almost irresistible. Almost. But I will resist. I've no real desire to dally any longer with that particular plaything.

Delightful though it was.

Weasley is running out of small talk, and looks relieved when his sister approaches and speaks quietly in his ear.

“Ah, the food is ready.” He gestures apologetically. “Apparently I have to go and...” He trails off, waving a hand.

I nod. “Of course.”

He shakes my hand again, then walks away. Ginevra Weasley just eyes me, not exactly unfriendly, but unsmiling. I smirk a little at what is likely a rather weak attempt to unsettle me, and then it suddenly hits me that this is his mother. This woman gave birth to the boy whose virgin arse I fucked with great gusto not so many weeks ago. Just for a second, I blanch.

I think I may simply do a circuit of the room, nod at whoever all these people are, some motley collection of ancient Weasleys and Gryffindors, from the looks of it, and then leave. All that matters at these things is showing one's face. I can leave Scorpius to enjoy himself into the small hours and strengthen these new ties he's made. I feel a small flare of pride in my chest at the thought of my son, accepted, liked, respected; I decide to go and speak to Scorpius before I leave.

I find him to one side of the hall where the band is playing, watching a group of girls thrashing about to the music. It's a bit tuneless for my taste, but the low steady drumbeat and the dim lighting reminds me of the club where I go to find company for my bed, and my pulse quickens just as I do when I step through the doors there.

Albus is leaning against the wall next to Scorpius, his hair flickering with the different colours reflected from the lights of the stage. His face is unreadable, as he stands with his hands deep in his pockets, pulling the lovely line of his robes awry, staring unsmiling at the musicians.

“Dad!” Scorpius looks genuinely pleased to see me, although if he thinks I haven't seen that bottle he's hiding behind his back, he's sadly mistaken. “I never guessed you'd come!”

I press a brief kiss to his forehead and smile against his ear as I speak quietly. “Such dreary people, but it doesn't hurt to be civil.”

Albus turns his head and visibly startles as he sees me standing there.

“Good evening, Albus.” I raise my voice over the music.

The bass is travelling up through the soles of my feet, making my cock stir under my robes, and I can see his Adam's apple bob deliciously into view above the high collar of his robes. Merlin, I'd like nothing more than to slowly undo those buttons, one by one, to expose the pale column of his throat.

“Mr Malfoy,” he says, and it's dark in here, but I swear he's blushing. How immensely gratifying.

Scorpius' attention is back on the group of girls. I carry on watching Albus as I speak. His lips are so full, soft and lush, dragging my focus to them again and again. I remember how they felt, the soft glide of them stretching around my prick. “Not dancing tonight, Scorpius?”

Scorpius shrugs. “No, I didn't want to leave Albus on his own.” He turns to grin at me. “He's such a terrible dancer.”

Albus face crumples into a glower as I raise an eyebrow.

“Really?” That does surprise me. He was so uninhibited, so beautifully instinctive. I can't resist a smirk. “Like your father, then, Albus.”

He looks far more like I remember his father, right now, with the sulky expression and jutting jaw, but the softness of the lashes and the intense blush I can see creeping up his throat, the sensuality of the gently parted mouth, that's one hundred percent Albus.

He looks up at me, part mortified, part beseeching, and I almost have to clench my hands at my sides to stop myself reaching for him right then and there. The strength of how much I want him jolts through me, knocking me off-balance me with the force of it. And he's ripe for the taking. I can see it in the clench of his shoulders, tense and unhappy, in every unwilling, hungry dart of his eye. In the yearning of his body, the ardent rise and fall of his chest clearly visible beneath the confines of the austere robes. I want to mess him up, to tangle my fingers in his hair, to pull those buttons askew so that I can mouth at his throat, then parade him in front of his family and friends.

Sweet, delicious Albus. Marked. Marred. _Mine_.

“Dad! Stop teasing Al. Go and hang out with the oldies, OK?”

Merlin. My son. My disrespectful son. My fingers itch with the desire to slap him. Of course, I would never lay a finger on him, but it doesn't stop me thinking about it sometimes. Instead I smile, a thin little thing. “Very well. Enjoy yourself. And I suppose you may have one more beer.”

His eyes widen.

“ _Only_ one. I shall know.”

I look at Albus. Such a pity. But I'm not so foolish as to risk it again, even for that pretty mouth. Those liquid eyes. That tight body, the smoothness of him, so unspoilt. Ah, well, I'm sure he'll have good memories of me. He was rather lucky with his first time, after all. “Good night, Albus. Scorpius.”

I walk away, feeling quite noble. It's a novel sensation. A waiter approaches with a tray of drinks and I select a tumbler of the surprisingly good firewhiskey Weasley is providing. The spicy warmth settles in my stomach and I glance around the room, smiling. Perhaps next year, when Albus has left Hogwarts. He'll be eighteen then. Perhaps we could... just for old times' sake. There'd be no harm in a little fooling around.

I stroll through the throng of guests, wondering if I should hold out for another ten minutes, or simply get my cloak and go. Then I hear it.

“Well, I wouldn't have him under my roof, no matter who his son's friendly with.”

I don't need to look. It's George Weasley. And he's drunk.

“George, it was all so long ago. The children don't hold these old prejudices, and we really have to put it all behind us, and stop―” That's Granger. Or Hermione Weasley, or whatever she is now. Still as sanctimonious as ever.

I attempt to simply keep walking, but then comes the voice of the Head Auror himself. Harry bleeding saintly Potter. “I'm not going to lie – I partly agree with you, George. I don't honestly want much to do with him, either. But it's different for the kids. Hermione's right. We have to move forwards.”

I do look round, then, just at the same time that Potter glances over his shoulder, and sees me standing right there. I suppose I might be looking less than delighted. He sees me, and it's bloody obvious I've heard. And bloody Potter – he grimaces at me as if he's fucking _sorry_ for me. As if— as if I give a shit what that arsehole George Weasley thinks of me. As if I care one tiny iota what Potter knows, or thinks he knows, about me and my family. From days that are so long past that they're actually in the history books. He gives me a look of pity. Pity, mixed with disdain. And I have fucking had it with these people.

I stalk to the hall, my hands shaking. A uniformed drudge stands by the door and I coldly demand my cloak. But as I am waiting, the sick numbness in my chest starts to be replaced with hot fury, and then... I find that I have another plan.

The ballroom is hot and humid, and the thump, thump, thump of the bass is as intoxicating as before.

“Scorpius. I had an idea.”

“Father?”

“You should dance, if you want to. I'll keep Albus company.”

I can not fathom how Albus copes at school at all. His face is a picture. I would have been ripped to pieces in my very first year if I had let every emotion show as he does.

“Don't worry, Dad. We're OK,” Scorpius nods, but his eyes go longingly to a girl wearing turquoise robes with a daring low back, her body sinuous as she moves to the beat.

“Go on. Albus can introduce me to a few people. I hardly know anyone here, and I bet he's quite familiar with this crowd.” I lean closer to Scorpius' ear. “It will be useful to me, you understand? Now, go. That young lady deserves a decent dance partner.”

He still hesitates. I don't know how my son ever became so loyal. “You mind, Albus?”

Albus' looks as if someone just gave him an unexpected present. A present that he suspects may bite him. He shakes his head mutely.

“All right, then.” Scorpius grins, pushing away from the wall and striding out confidently onto the dancefloor. He doesn't look back.

I step towards Albus, my skin prickling with anticipation. There seems no point beating about the bush; I can practically smell the desire rolling off him, his eyes dark, hungry, and wide with amazement. I watch his face as I speak. “Meet me in the garden. Five minutes.”

His mouth falls open. God, I'd like to kiss him right here. Right under his fucking parents' noses. It's dark, and crowded, and probably no-one would notice... I want to stroke my thumb against his bottom lip, to feel the softness, and then lean in, and open him right up with my tongue. Taste him, make him moan into my mouth and then grind against him, feel all of those tiny buttons dig into my chest, and feel his erection swelling against mine. I fucking _burn_ for him, the whisky and the need tangling as hot as fire in my gut, and it occurs to me that I may not be as entirely in control of whatever this is as I might like.

He's still just staring, as if the sun and all the bloody stars just fell out of the sky and landed in his lap. Harry Potter's boy, so hot, so very hot for me – about to be so very _wicked_ for me, and I can't help the laugh that's bubbling within me as I walk away.

*~*

It's pretty cold out here, but that's not why I'm trembling. I lean against the trunk of a big maple, hoping its shadow will keep my hidden from anyone glancing out from the house. I don't think anyone saw me go; I only waited one minute after Mr Malfoy left, but then I couldn't find the way to the garden. I almost ended up in the kitchen, where Grandma was knocking back a few with Aunt Fleur, and rambling on as usual about “Can you believe it, our Ron ending up in a big posh place like this?” Luckily they didn't stop me as I walked past, and then I found a side door onto the patio and escaped out here.

_Fuck_. I wonder if he's coming. I never, never thought that it could happen again. That I could be so lucky. I mean, I hoped, of course... and I imagined it, in great detail, about three times a fucking day, _every_ day since the summer... but I thought that was it. Mum didn't want me to visit the Malfoys again in the holidays; she said everyone missed me at home too much, and then Mr Malfoy didn't come to Kings Cross on September 1st, he was away on business, Scorp said. I thought when I eventually saw him again he'd probably be all distant and aloof. Like he used to be.

My prick is aching. I feel like it's been hard ever since I first saw him tonight. Sweet Merlin. I hope he comes. Maybe he's out here already, and I just didn't see him? It's a big garden, and he could be anywhere. Maybe he changed his mind. Maybe he just wants... I don't know, maybe he just wants to talk to me? About Scorp, or something? God! I shake my head. He's probably worried about his son, and I'm here with an erection that's making my eyes water, and thinking he's going to come out here and fuck me. Right here, in Uncle Ron's garden? In the cold, with my mum and dad right inside, and Scorp and everyone, and my Grandma in the kitchen tippling at the sherry for the trifle? What an idiot I am. I press my hand to the front of my robes, willing my cock to go down, but of course it won't. I'm so fucked.

I'm just thinking maybe I'll go back inside, and then I see him. My heart gives a massive thump and I think I whimper out loud. His robes seem to shimmer in the light from the house as he steps onto the patio. I step away from the safety of the tree and into the pool of light that spills across the grass. He's got a drink in his hand, and he comes quickly towards me, taking my arm and pulling me back into the shadows. His fingers are hot against my chilled skin. He steers me away from the house, heading towards a little white building about a hundred feet from the house. I glance at his face and it's unsmiling and aloof. I wish he would say something, but he ignores me and keeps moving.

We get to the – I guess it's a sort of summer house? There are windows all across the front of it, and the doors have panes of glass in them, too. Mr Malfoy yanks at one of the doors and then more or less shoves me inside. It's semi-circular, with a bare wooden floor, but they don't seem to have put any furniture in yet. Well, I suppose they weren't expecting anyone to use it in November.

Once we're inside, Mr Malfoy just looks at me, in that way like he's stripping me naked. Oh, god. Our breath is streaming out in white puffs, but heat sweeps across my body like an Incendio. Mr Malfoy sets his drink down on the floor, then his hands are on my shoulders and he's crowding me up against the back wall. He tastes of firewhisky and his mouth is burning and spicy. I'm shaking all over as he kisses me again and again, fierce and possessive, his hands pinning me to the rough wood.

“Albus...” he says, and pulls away to start unbuttoning my robes. Merlin. It took me about an hour to get into them – the buttons are not just for show ‒ but Mr Malfoy's deft fingers have them open to my chest in only a minute. He bends to suck at the skin of my collarbone, letting his teeth scrape over the bone, An intense shiver runs through me and he pulls away.

“Cold?” His wand is in his hand and instantly the air is balmy around us, the warm currents streaming out into the night via the open door. He stretches to slam the door closed, then his lips are on my throat, seeking out all the tender spots, licking and sucking as if he's possessed.

I'm so fucking turned on – just from his mouth on my neck. I feel pathetic, but I can't keep quiet, the noises spilling from my lips and echoing against the thin walls. I never want it to stop, but―

“Mr Malfoy. Oh, fuck, Mr Malfoy.” My voice sounds weird and wavering. “They'll see. They'll see the marks.”

He gives a little bite then, his teeth digging in to the soft flesh just at the side. “So?”

And somehow, it's the most amazing thought, that he actually wouldn't care if people knew what we'd been doing, like he might actually _want_ people to know. But at the same time, I'm thinking, fuck, my Grandma will probably kill him. I don't mean that figuratively, I mean, actually kill him dead. Mum's told me the story of how Grandma blasted some old witch clean away in the war because she was trying to hurt Mum. And that was when Grandma was sober. I shudder to think what she might do when pissed on cooking sherry.

And then he undoes another slew of buttons, and his hands are in my robes, freeing my cock and, oh, god, his fingers are _so_ fucking‒ _ohhhhh_ , and then I stop thinking altogether.

*~*

His skin is like warm silk as I slide my hand across his stomach and down into the hot, humid haven of his boxers. His cock is so eager, so _grateful_ for my hand, jerking with delight again and again as I brush my fingers against it. I want to see it, to see his face as I stroke him, and so I set my wand to cast a faint Lumos around us.

The light flickers across his face. Ah, yes. That's so much better. Now I can see his eyes flutter closed and then open again to stare at me, wide-eyed, when I roll his balls in the palm of my hand. Now I can see his throat working as a stream of moans and little sighs flow from his mouth. It feels... enjoyably risky.

Well, I should say _more_ risky. Wanking off Harry Potter's seventeen-year-old son is an inherently risky activity in the first place. The front of the summerhouse is all glazed. I suppose, in theory, someone could decide to take a walk in the garden and then they might see... well, what? See us standing in the dim light, me unbuttoning Albus' robes right to the very bottom, and pushing them off his shoulders to pool on the floor, then helping him step out of first his shoes and then his underwear. See me drinking him in with my eyes, his body even more delectable than I remembered. The smattering of dark, curled hair just here, and mmm, yes, here. The curve of his back, the swell of his arse, and the thrilling rediscovery of those dimples at the base of Albus' spine. I run my hand across them, probing the muscle with my fingers.

They would see me mouthing at his neck, marking the pale skin with purple and red. It felt wonderfully reckless to say, _so?_ , but I know full well that his collar will cover the marks. I'll be able to button him up again and send him on his way, and I only I will know that he's no longer pristine under that perfect formal attire. That I've defiled him, corrupted him, just because I wanted to. Just because I could. Oh, I could spend many a long year at the blissful task of debauching Albus Potter. I think of his father and his stupid, smug, hero's face. I think of how he would look if he could see me now, how his detestable pity would turn to horror. And I push Potter's boy, naked and quivering with desire, down on his knees on the floor in front of me.

*~*

I can still hear the noise from the party, the boom of the band and the occasional shriek of laughter flooding out across from the house. But it feels like we're somewhere quite apart from them, me and Mr Malfoy. It's so warm in here now, and sultry against my bare skin. He's still fully dressed as he presses on my shoulders and I go down without a word of protest. I quite often wake up hard in the night, just thinking about how it was when I sucked his cock before. But I don't know if he wants me to undress him, or what. I look up at him, the rough wood scratchy against my knees. I wish I could tell what he was thinking. The wandlight playing on his mouth makes it look gloating and almost cruel. But his hand on my cheek is gentle.

“Albus.” He says my name like it's something special. Something good to eat, like he's tasting it and rolling it around his mouth. “Albus, I sometimes think about you. About what we did.” He strokes his hand along my jaw, dragging the pads of his fingers along the stubble, and I know he's remembering the time he shaved me. I sit back on my haunches, pressing my cheek against his hand like a cat. I ache for him to touch me some more. My skin is alight with need for him.

“Have you been thinking about me?” His voice is soft and wondering.

“Oh, fuck, yes.” It comes out as a long moan. I look up at him, my eyes wide, thinking of all the times I've wanked over him. Obsessing over every little detail of what we did.

How I've imagined his voice, low and imperious, whispering in my ear as I come. Telling me how good I am. How good it feels to be inside me.

How I've made myself blush with my fantasies about him. How I bought a dildo and learned to open myself up and fuck myself with it, desperate for the sensation of being filled, of him stretching me wide open, but it was never the same. Oh, I had some stellar orgasms with it. But, even with all my fantasies, nothing ever came close to Mr Malfoy fucking me. The way he knew just what I needed – and gave it to me. Sometimes I think I'd do anything to have that again.

I want to tell him all of this, but I can't. So I just look up at him helplessly, and hope he can read it in my face.

He runs his eyes all over my face, then his gaze travels down across my body: my throat, my nipples, my stomach, down to my cock. It's so hard, and him looking at it makes it twitch even higher. He lifts his hands to his own throat and begins to undo the silver-grey robes. There are only a few fastenings at the top and his chest is bare beneath. His fingers move deftly and, oh, fuck, he's naked underneath. I mean, he's not wearing _anything_ under his robes at all. His cock is just right there, pushing thickly between the heavy fabric and pointing towards my face as he unfastens another clasp on his robes, and then the material falls to each side and he's standing with the robes hanging free from his shoulders, and only the dark leather of his boots below.

He lets out a soft laugh at my look of astonishment. “It is traditional to be naked beneath one's robes, Albus.”

Is it? Merlin. Is he just messing with me? I have no idea. His cock is even better than I remembered, such a deep pink, so thick, and perfect. To be honest about it, I'm feeling kind of weak at the thought that he was walking around all night with it uncovered beneath his robes. Just hanging there heavily between his legs while he talked to my Uncle Ron. A sound like a choke comes from my throat.

“You like that, don't you, Albus?” His hand is stroking my hair, cupping the back of my head and gently nudging my face towards the flushed tip of his erection. “You like the thought that I was talking to the people at the party, and I was getting hard from looking at you, with only my robes pressing against it. And nobody could guess.” I lean in towards him, my breath coming quick and shallow. I can smell him – god, I can smell how aroused he is, the musky scent collected in the pale hair around his cock, and the fresh smell of his skin.

His voice drops to a whisper. “Only you and I know. Only we know how hard I get for you.” He guides my mouth so it's brushing against his cock. “Only we know how much you love it. And what a good boy you are for me.“ His face is glowing with something fierce. I want to take him in right now, the whole length of it, but I feel like he might want me to wait until he tells me to. My lips are parted. I can so nearly taste him. I've been imagining it for weeks.

“You're going to suck it for me, aren't you, Albus? Just like you did the last time. Except, this time, I'll come in your mouth.” He cups my chin and tilts my face up towards him, rubbing his thumb against my bottom lip, pulling it down so my mouth is fully open. “And you're going to love every bit of it.”

*~*

My cock slides in, smooth as syrup. His mouth is so relaxed and open for me, his face completely trusting. It's almost unbearable. I coil the hair at the nape of his neck around my fingers and pull a little, just to see his face twist, but he doesn't falter, only gives a beautiful, heart-felt moan around my cock. His full lips look divine stretched around me, and as I thrust in gently, he gags just once, then takes it all.

The view of him kneeling there, the flawless lines of his body on the brink of turning from boyhood to manhood, his eager mouth and the way he closes his eyes as I feed him my cock... it's almost too much. Excitement is spiking in my stomach and thighs already, and pull out for a moment to rest my cock against his cheek, my breath coming in short bursts.

I've lost track of how many boys I've fucked since I had Albus. I'm no idiot – I know full well I've been going for the younger ones lately. I've not been idle, by any means. I must have had ten, twelve... maybe twenty? I don't even know. But I know nothing came close to this: Albus Potter, on his knees, with his lips soft around me, and his eyes fluttering closed in delight at the weight of my cock on his tongue.

I started to notice that some of the boys at the club, the really popular ones, the fit ones... some of them let their eyes slide over me, and then move on. I've been looking in the mirror. I've still got it, no doubt about that, but... there are those telltale signs that weren't there five years ago. Maybe even three years ago. The faint lines around the eyes, the softness at the jaw. A little more skin showing at the temples than perhaps there was when I was thirty. I shake these thoughts off, instead looking down and sinking into his luscious, pillow-soft mouth once more, picking up a rhythm. _Albus_ didn't consider me briefly and then move on. Albus gazes up at me with shining green eyes as if I set the constellations burning in the sky. Albus didn't walk past, looking for a better offer. He looked at me as if I were the only man at the party.

He is quite heavenly by wandlight. His skin touched with gold, the shadows playing over the muscles on his arms, the sweep of his back, and his dark hair falling into his eyes. I smooth it back and keep my hand resting there, steadying him as I begin to thrust deeper. I can feel my balls tightening, little stabs of satisfaction with every instroke and a deep rolling ache of sweetness as his tongue caresses me on the outstroke. This is shaping up to be one of the best bloody blowjobs I've ever had – and I've had a few.

And then it hits me. This boy. This boy who had never had a cock in his mouth until a few weeks ago. This boy is sucking me like a pro. He's taking it all, his lips stretched around my girth, his face rapturous in that painfully open way. He's got a bloody _technique_.

“Albus,” I hiss. “You're so good at this.”

He moans, a long desperate sound. He sucks me so hungrily, his mouth moving relentlessly, his own cock leaking onto the floor.

“Who have you been with?” I imagine him in his dorm, on his knees for some brawny Quidditch-playing ape. Or maybe a line of them, the whole team watching as each one takes his turn. It should be arousing, but instead a snarl rises in my chest. “Tell me, Albus. Who have you been sucking cocks for like a dirty little slut?”

His eyes are wide and surprised, but he doesn't stop. I pull out, the suction making my toes curl in my boots, then take his chin in my hand and lift his head to look at me. “Tell me. You never sucked my cock like this before.”

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. His voice is hoarse. “I've been practising.”

“I can see that!” My fingers are gripping his face, probably harder than they should be. There's a loud rushing in my ears.

The words come out in a tumble. “It– It was with a dildo. I practised with a dildo.”

I just stare at him. At the blush rising up from his chest, staining his whole face pink. My fingers rest limply on his face.

“I‒ I wanted to be good at it.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out shakily, drops his chin so his hair falls across his face. He speaks so quietly that I can hardly hear him. “For you.”

My hands hang at my sides. He's staring at the floor, his eyes hidden by the dark fall of his fringe. I wet my lips, then stroke my fingers against the bruises I have teased into bloom on his neck.

“Oh, Albus.” There is a melting, flooding heat welling up inside me. I take his face in both hands, stroke along his jaw, then open his mouth gently with my thumbs. “You lovely thing.” I slide my prick in once more, and he welcomes it back like a long-lost sweetheart. “You're such a good boy.” The words come out as a groan, and I can't help my hips jerking forwards to press in further to the wet warmth of his mouth. The feel of it is almost unendurable. I would like to do this all night, just fuck Albus' mouth until his jaw aches, fuck every inch of it, slow and sweet, while his family congratulate themselves on their boring bloody party a few dozen yards away. But the seething heat is building at the base of my spine and I can't resist for much longer.

The image flashes into my mind of his serious, intent little face _practising_ after lights out in his bedroom at Hogwarts. His lips wrapped around a dildo, his mouth shiny with spit. Swallowing, and sucking, and trying to relax, and—

Oh, Merlin, and thinking of _me_ all the while.

My back arches, and with a sort of rough shout I lose myself in wave after wave of hot pleasure, all the tensions of the evening released in a flood of euphoria as I empty myself down Albus' throat. His eyes open very wide and his throat looks so fine, swallowing and swallowing until I am spent. I pull out slowly and he lets me go with a soft sigh, his lashes sweeping closed.

“Did you like that?” My limbs feel loose and I let myself lean back against the side of the summerhouse.

His voice is pitched deeper than I expect. “Yes.”

“My taste? Do you like my come in your mouth?”

I stroke his face, and just as I hoped, there's the blush, pinking his cheeks. He nods his head, and I can't help but notice his poor needy cock bobbing too.

“Tell me.”

“I‒ I liked it. I love it.”

“Come here.” I'm lounging against the wall, wonderfully relaxed. His legs seem a little unsteady as he gets to his feet. I pull him in, tasting myself on his tongue. His stiff cock slides over mine and I can feel the shiver running through his entire body. His skin is hot, so firm, the swell of his arse so luxurious. I turn him around until my softening cock is nestling against his arse cheeks, and he's pressing back against me. I wonder if I have time to get hard again and fuck him. Probably not. It was madness to bring him out here at all. Madness to take him to my bed in the first place. What is it about it this boy that makes me want to do the most ridiculous things?

I pull him close so that he's leaning against me, his back trembling against my chest as I reach around to take his cock in my fist. He's feverishly hot and he gasps out a jittery sigh as I smooth his foreskin over the head and then draw it back with a gentle roll. My nose is in his hair – soft and apple-scented – and I bend to mouth at the delicate skin of his nape, letting my tongue touch against the whorl of hair there.

His thighs are straining with exertion and he starts to fuck into the circle of my fingers, one hand reaching back to clutch wildly at my shoulder. I can tell it's all going to be over, far too soon. I sigh and pull him flush against me, a slick of sweat from his back dampening my chest. I let my lips brush his ear. “You looked so beautiful on your knees for me. Taking my cock like that.”

His whole body shivers and his pulse jumps under my lips.

“Just think, if anyone came into the garden now, what would they see?”

He's facing out towards the panes of glass. They're slightly steamy now from the warmth, and from our breath, but we'd still be visible from the outside. He moans, a rather anxious little sound, but he throbs even harder in my hand.

“They'd see you, wouldn't they? They'd see you, hard, and moaning for it.” I slow my hand so it's barely moving, learning the ridges of him, the breath-taking smoothness of the glans. “You want it so badly, don't you? They'd see you here, so hard like this, and just dying to come.”

His legs are shaking so much that I wrap my free arm around his chest to hold him up.

“Beg for it, Albus.”

His hips are jerking, his fingers reaching back to clench around my thigh now.

“I want you to beg.”

“Oh,” he sobs out. “Oh, fuck.”

My fingers encircle the base of his cock. “Beg for it. Now.”

“Oh, hell. Please. _Please_. Oh, god, please, let me come, please.” His voice cracks at the last, ending on a surprisingly high note.

I slide my fist along his length, relishing the glide of his foreskin and the sticky-slick drops of pre-come that coat the head.

“Oh, god, you're so good.” His breath is coming in harsh bursts.

“Yes.”

“Oh, fuck. You're so— ahh.”

“You've been thinking about me.”

“Yes. Oh, _goddd_!”

Oh, the disjointed sounds and words spilling from his mouth, his shy, sweet mouth.

“Yes. Tell me. Tell me what you thought about.” I can feel the muscles of his arse-cheeks moving against my thighs.

“You— ahh. I‒ thought about you— _ah_. Fucking me.”

“Yes.”

“I— ah, I think about it every‒ every day. All the bloody time.” He makes a sound like a little sob as I slowly, slowly, rub my thumb over the ridge of his glans, making it slippery with pre-come.

“Me fucking you. Like I did before?” I could definitely get hard again. In fact― How long before we're missed, though? Damn it, there's no _time_...

“ _Fuuuuck, yes._ I‒ I need it. I need it, so bad. Just want you‒ to fuck me. Oh, please. I can't _stop_ thinking about it.”

“I want that, too, Albus. Yes, I want that very much.” His cock throbs in my hand, his body almost convulsing with need.

“God, you're so— ahh, you're so good, so _good_ ―”

His neck is damp with sweat. I can't make him wait any more. “You love this. Tell me you love it.” I let my lips suck at his throat again as my hand brings him right to the edge.

“Yes, yes, oh, fuck, _please_ — _ahhhhhhhh_...” and he's coming over my fist, pumping hotly again and again as I massage his come over the head and along the length.

“Oh god, oh god.” His cock won't stop twitching and pulsing with come. “Oh, yes. Fuck.”

In the end he grabs my wrist with a shaking hand to stop me. He's juddering against me and I slowly guide us both down to the floor, so that we're sitting with him slumped in my arms. His head lolls back against my shoulder, baring his throat. His body is limp and relaxed, his legs sprawled out on the floor. He's so impossibly trusting. It makes something inside me ache.

*~*

My head is empty. I'm just drifting, enjoying the waves of heaviness and peace sinking down on me like a fine blanket. Mr Malfoy's arms are wrapped around me, and, oh god, I'm such a fool, I've even dreamt about this.

Everything feels tranquil. The wandlight murmuring against our skin. His breath, calm and steady against my forehead, the way he strokes my hair off my face, speaking so quietly I can only hear the odd word. The band are playing something more sedate, and I can hear the melody thrumming soft and low.

My eyelids are heavy as I turn my head towards him. His face looks so elegant in profile, the arch of his brow and the defined, half-cruel curve of his lips. I take a breath, not wanting to break the moment, but needing to tell him, needing to ask him― And like the crack of a curse, we hear it sizzling through the air in the garden: my name.

“ALBUS?”

It's my dad. My eyes snap wide open, my heart lurches with a sickening thump. Mr Malfoy stiffens, and the shout comes again.

“ALBUS! ARE YOU OUT HERE?”

Mr Malfoy is pushing at me. “Get up, get up!”

My legs are stumbling and stupid. My feet have gone to sleep.

“Fucking hell, boy, _quickly_!”

He's snatching at my robes, thrusting them into my arms. His robes are half-on, half-off and he's smoothing down his hair and scooping up his wand to dim the light right down, leaving just enough for me to see him fastening his robes as if he's practised this a hundred times.

“ALLLL— _BUSSSSSS_. Where are you? Your mother wants you!”

Oh, shitting, holy _hell_. My robes are bloody inside out, and Mr Malfoy is yanking them out of my hands and setting them to rights, turning me this way and that and cursing as he folds my arms into the sleeves, plucking at the buttons and somehow, somehow, getting me to look decent and even guiding my feet back into my shoes.

His hands brush across my shoulders, one, two, harsh and fast, to remove the dust from the floor, and I can just see his face, stony and blank, before he spins me around and pushes me out of the door.

*~*

I cast _Nox_ and sag back against the wall, my throat tight with shock. What the absolute giddy fuck was I thinking? Messing about with the Head Auror's youngest son in some glorified shed, at a party full of Weasleys? I might as well have stuck my head into a Basilisk's mouth. Merlin, they're all half-pissed and every last one of them armed. I'd wager Potter knows a few things worse than _Sectumsempra_ by now. I run a hand across my face and try to breathe more evenly.

Perhaps we should have waited, just stayed hidden quietly in here until they went away. God knows where the boy will say he was, or what he was doing. There's not an inch of Slytherin in him. The predictable crude joke pops into my mind and I shake my head, trying to clear it. I must think. Fuck, Draco, think!

A drop of sweat falls from my temples and I take out my handkerchief to pat the dampness away. Very well. Say the worst happens. What of it? He's of age.

I swallow painfully around the lump in my throat.

It was consensual. There's nothing criminal about two men pursuing... certain interests together, in the heat of the moment. We are at a party. These things happen all the time.

He wanted it. He wanted _me_. Merlin, he was literally begging for it. I'll happily share that memory with the Wizengamot if anyone tries to insinuate I forced him.

I straighten my shoulders, pat my wand in my pocket.

Perhaps he won't tell. He's probably loyal. Honourable. All that shit. Not to mention, scared for his own skin. I doubt Daddy would be very pleased with him, consorting with a man more than twice his age, and a Malfoy to boot.

A sour, chilly feeling is swirling in my stomach. I saw him. I saw his face as I shoved him out into the garden. He looked... scared. Very young, all of a sudden. But more than that.

_Betrayed._

I force myself to think of a cool pane of glass, school my face until it is blank and indifferent. One of the clasps on my robes is crooked and I spend a moment refastening it. What the fuck do these Potters mean to me, anyway? Nothing. Not a jot.

I don't know which is more incriminating: to be seen sauntering in from the garden, a few minutes after Albus appears, or to Apparate away without taking my leave. Can one even Apparate from the garden, here? Impossible to guess with these people.

I remember the glass of firewhisky I left near the door. Two gulps which burn all the way down, warming me right to my core, and I've decided to brazen it out. The thought of skulking away like vermin appeals even less than facing whatever awaits me. I slink in via a side door, admittedly, but once I'm inside, and nobody appears to be about to let loose with an Unforgivable, I hold my head high and allow a smile to pull at my lips.

The boy was utterly divine, after all, and by god, I enjoyed him. I'll allow myself to dwell further on that later. For now, it seems wise to make my way to the hall, again, obtain my cloak and go.

As I throw the heavy folds of my cloak over my shoulders, I sense eyes upon me, and look up to see Potter looking down from the rail at the top of the stairs. His eyes are green, like Albus', but his are narrowed and cool, watching me from under his brows, where Albus' eyes were wide and clear, and shone with desire.

Does Potter know? He doesn't speak, but stares as I settle my cloak around me. I know I shouldn't rise to the challenge in his expression. But I can't resist: a smirk leaks slowly across my face, and I allow myself to remember, just for a moment, how Albus shuddered and moaned in my arms.

I wonder, though... what if I had pulled him back inside? Just for a moment. To kiss the stingof treachery away.

Ah, well. It's done now.

I turn my back on the whole lot of them and step out into the night. It's not that cold, but a shiver runs down my neck as I think what a near miss this was. It seems ironic that, once, a Potter pulled me from the inferno, and now, another tempts me in, the heat licking around my ankles with such allure that I almost long to be burned. But I'm confident I've learned my lesson, and I'll not play with fire a third time, no matter how provoking the thought, how seductive to the senses, no matter how the bright flames flicker and beguile.


End file.
